


I’ll Take One of Everything, Please

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, M/M, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22202035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Post-apocalypse, Aziraphale has started to unwind and let himself get as soft as he wants. Crowley approves and decides to treat his angel to a special dinner. Kinky shit ensues.This is a fetish fic, please don’t read if you don’t like that stuff.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 198
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

“Ahhh,” Aziraphale said from behind the newspaper he was reading, “this sounds scrumptious!”

A little alert went off in Crowley’s mind. “What’s that, angel?”

”This new restaurant,” Aziraphale explained. “I’m reading a review of it — we simply must go.”

”Of course,” Crowley said, smiling. There might be nothing more he enjoyed than taking his angel out to sample culinary delights - both new and old ones. And these days often a lot more than “sample”, he thought, watching as Aziraphale’s hand drift down to rest on his round belly. Since they’d broken off ties from Heaven and Hell, Aziraphale seemed to have lost any last reticence he’d had to indulging in the hedonistic pleasure of eating, and the effects had become quite visible. He’d never seen the angel so plump, and Crowley loved everything about it: the experience of watching the angel indulge himself, the sight of his now constantly straightening waistcoat buttons, the sigh of satisfaction he’d make when he was done — and ever since Aziraphale had also decided to give in to the sin of lust, too, and let Crowley bed him, he’d also had the opportunity to run his hands and mouth all over that beautiful belly, soothing it when it was overfull, admiring its increasing heft.   
  
They hadn’t spoken a word about it. The only sign Aziraphale gave that he was aware of his increasing bulk were some furtive glances Crowley had caught him making in the mirror, bracketing his prominent tummy with both hands as he surveyed himself, and perhaps using a little miracle to make his clothes a bit roomier — he must be doing that, because Crowley had no idea how he was fitting that immense stomach in the same old well-loved suit at this point.

And sometimes, when Crowley was lavishing his engorged belly with kisses in bed, he’d look up and see Aziraphale blushing slightly, biting his lip, and looking at him curiously. Crowley would wonder if he could read his mind, knew how much pleasure he got out if seeing his angel grow huge with his gluttony. But if he did, he never said anything.

Now he watched as Aziraphale’s hand absent-mindedly stroked his belly, which Crowley knew was filled with all manner of decadent breakfast pastries (because he’d brought them to the bookshop along with the paper expressly to watch him eat each one). The idea of Aziraphale soothing his bloated stomach while he daydreamed about filling it with even more food made Crowley shiver even more. As did the next words out of Aziraphale’s mouth:

”It all just sounds so delectable. I don’t know how I’ll choose what to order from the menu. I want everything!”

A wonderful idea sprang to life in Crowley’s mind (while something else sprang to life in his trousers). “Let’s go tonight,” he says, and took the paper away from Aziraphale. “And now I think you should close the shop.”

”Close it? Whatever for—“ His silly angel was interrupted by Crowley’s mouth, after which he understood whatever for, and he hastened to close up the shop and follow his demon upstairs to his flat.

That night they arrived at the restaurant just in time for a private room to miraculously become free. Both were buzzing with excitement, though for very different reasons.

”This is very nice,” Aziraphale said, looking around the room as the waiter poured them wine. “Very secluded. Er, where are the menus?”

”It’s all taken care of, angel,” Crowley said, just as four staff members filed in, carry trays burdened with plates. Each were filled with every appetizer, soup, and salad on the menu. Aziraphale watched with wide eyes as they unloaded them onto the table and then left. 

“Crowley, what is the meaning of this?” He hissed.

”You said you wanted to try everything on the menu.”

”Not all at once!”

”Why not?”

”Look, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, growing increasingly red-faced, “I know I’m rather a glutton, I’m not completely in denial, but even I can’t manage to eat all of that. There simply isn’t room in this corporation for it all!”

”You’re an angel, angel. You can make room.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened at the idea of it. Had it really never occurred to him before? “I’m not using miracle to do ... that.”

Crowley snorted. It was so like Aziraphale to miracle his suits bigger to accommodate his swelling form but stop short at stretching his belly, too. Even though, based on the increasingly hungry looks he was casting at the spread on the table, he certainly wanted to. “Well, if you won’t,” he says, “I don’t mind doing it.” He waggled his fingers.

Aziraphake looked flabbergasted. He cupped his belly in his hands and looked at it thoughtfully, as though trying to estimate how much it could hold and how big it would be when filled with all that food. 

“Well, there’s no sense in wasting all this food, he muttered, picking up his fork.

”That’s right, angel,” Crowley said soothingly.

”I’m not saying I’m going to eat it all!” Aziraphale snapped. “I’ll stop when I’m full.”

Crowley smirked. Of course he would.

The next hour and a half was the most enjoyable and arousing of Crowley’s life. Aziraphale made short work of all the appetizers and such, quickly losing himself in the delicious food. Stuffed mushrooms dripping in butter, fried Brussels sprouts with pancetta, duck confit, and of course his favorite, oysters. He cleaned every plate and then sat back with a sigh, replete but still well within his limits.

Then came the entrees. Plate after plate of chicken, streak, fish, pasta, and rice dishes were laid out on the table. Aziraphale watched with increasingly wide eyes, but Crowley could practically see his mouth watering. Aziraphale always lost his head around delectable food.

He ate the first few plates with little trouble, sighing orgasmically and praising the chef as he finished each one. By the time he had cleared the fourth though, he sat back with a groan, clutching his belly. It was already hugely distended, the buttons on his waistcoat very strained. He arched his back and stifled a belch behind his hand. 

“You should unbutton that,” Crowley observed. “It looks like it might burst.”

”Oh shut up,” Aziraphale said, but then he looked around to make sure none of the waiters were about and quickly undid the buttons, sighing a little with relief. His shirt was perilously close to bursting, the fabric between the buttons stretched so tight little bulges of flesh were poking through. Aziraphale looked at his stomach with consternation and Crowley looked at with a list so burning hot he thought he might burst into flames. Then Aziraphale scowled, snapped his fingers, and the pressure on the shirt loosened , conforming to the arc of his bloated belly.

”Your food’s getting cold,” Crowley remarked.

”Then keep it warm,” Aziraphale said, but he leaned forward and started on the fifth plate.

A few more plates later, with still a few more remaining, and Aziraphale was again in trouble. His stomach had filled up his shirt again, but that was the last of his problems. He kept gasping for air, arching his back, and running his thumb along the waistband of his too-tight trousers. “You should unbutton them,” Crowley said.

”Not in public!” Aziraphale said breathlessly, and moaned a little, rubbing his sore, stuffed stomach.   
  


“Well, make ‘em bigger,” Crowley said. “You’ve still got all this to eat, then dessert.”

”I’m skipping dessert!” Aziraphale whined, and hiccuped. This jolted his poor stomach and he groaned.

”No, you’re not, it’s all ready for you,” Crowley said breezily. “Need a hand yet?” He waggled his fingers again.

”No,” Aziraphale said stubbornly, and snapped his fingers. His trousers and shirt expanded again, and he let out a little sob of relief. But there was no relief for his immense bloated stomach. He rubbed it and moaned piteously, then pitched himself forward and pulled forward the next plate.

Aziraphale dropped the fork onto the empty plate. “Done,” he whimpered. “Oh God, m’so full.” His now free hand joined the other in desperately trying to soothe his belly, which was truly enormous now, occupying almost his entire lap. It rose and fell heavily with each labored breath. He’d had to miracle his clothes bigger again, just to finish this last plate. Crowley had watched it all silently, eyes glued to his constantly masticating mouth as he brought forkful after forkful to it, to his swollen gut, barely contained in his shirt. He committed every groan, gasp, and even moan of pleasure — and there were plenty, because stuffed as he was, Aziraphale couldn’t help but enjoy every delicious bite — to his memory.

Together they watched as the staff cleared away the empty plates and replaced them with dessert: tall slices of cake, heaps of ice cream, small pyramids of patisserie. Once they had left Aziraphale moaned, “I can’t.”

”Yes, you can.” It was true that there was no way in his current state that Aziraphale could eat any of this. He truly was full to bursting. But with Crowley’s help ...

He watched as Aziraphale took in the decadent display before him. And when he saw Aziraphale lick his lips he knew he had him. Because Aziraphale wanted to eat it. He wanted to eat it all. He just needed a little nudge. 

Crowley laid a hand on Aziraphale engorged belly. It felt hot and hard and tight. “Let me help you,” he said.

Aziraphale closest his eyes tightly. “Fine,” he said.

With his free hand, Crowley snapped his fingers. Beneath his palm, the packed belly began to soften. Aziraphale gasped, clutching at his stomach, and then groaned. “Oh Crowley,” he whispered, “that feels marvelous.”

”Does it?” Crowley said, stroking the now soft and pliant flesh of Aziraphale’s belly. It was just as big as it had been, but now it could stretch more. 

“Oh, it was wonderful,” Aziraphale said, eagerly peering at the food before him. “I don’t know why I resisted, how silly of me. Could you pass me that chocolate cake, my dear?”

Crowley, smirking, handed him the cake. And Aziraphale plopped it on the deep shelf of his belly with no shame at all and began devouring it. Crowley nearly fainted at the sight of it. “Hurry up and finish all this so I can get you home,” he growled, shifting in his seat.”

Aziraphale scraped the last of the cake from the plate and handed it to Crowley, who took it and replaced it with some profiteroles. “You know, my dear, you could have just told me about this little fetish of yours. I mean, I suspected, but it is nice having positive confirmation.”

Crowley groaned and put his arms around Aziraphale’s enormous belly and squeezed it, making the angel let out a little squeak. “You suspected! You little tease. I wasn’t even sure you knew what a fetish was.”

Aziraphale looked at him as though he were exceedingly stupid. “Of course I do,” he says. “Now pass me that ice cream. And oh, I suppose you ought to just unbutton my trousers; I’m afraid if I miracle them again the fabric might just give out, it’s feeling rather thin.”

Hastening to comply with both requests, Crowley thanked his lucky stars that he had this wonderful, filthy, corpulent angel all to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

“Angel, where are you?”

Crowley closed the door to the bookshop and looked around. There was no one in sight, and the shop was silent. He checked the back room - nothing. He headed upstairs to Aziraphale’s flat, and as he climbed, he heard the telltale sound of a fork scraping against a plate. He smiled.

”Started without me?” He asked as he reached the top of the stairs, and almost fell over when he took in the sight in front of him. “Oh my G-Sa-Somebody, angel.”

From where he was half-lying, prone on the couch, Aziraphale blushed scarlet. “I was hungry,” he said, and took another bite of cake.

That was an understatement. Aziraphale was surrounded by empty plates and containers; enough to feed a whole family, maybe two of them. And where had all of that food gone? Into his absolutely enormous belly. It swelled out, overflowing his lap, perched on his widespread knees like a prize-winning pumpkin. Aziraphale had removed his waistcoat and unbuttoned his shirt and trousers, and the effect was something like an immense, overripe fruit that had split its skin. He was breathing quite heavily, his free hand stroking his turgid flesh, but he didn’t seem uncomfortable.

Recovering a little from the shock the sight had produced, Crowley strode over and laid a hand on the huge, perfectly round globe of Aziraphale’s stomach, making the angel sigh happily and fruitlessly attempt to arch into his touch. “How many times?” He asked.

”Hm?” Aziraphale asked innocently, but Crowley knew that it was all an act.

”You know what I mean, don’t play stupid,” he said, pressing into the plump, soft fat of that wonderful belly. “How many times did you have to miracle this stomach big enough to stuff yourself like this?”

Aziraphale blushed. “Five,” he admitted.

Crowley grinned so hard his face nearly split. “Five times,” he said. “Five time you gorged yourself until you couldn’t eat another bite more, but you didn’t want to stop, so you stretched your gut even more so you could keep eating, and eating, and eating ... bet you couldn’t even move now without a miracle. But you don’t care, you just want more and more ...”

”Crowley,” Aziraphale whined breathlessly, “please.”

”Please, what?” But Crowley knew what he meant and he was already loading up the fork Aziraphale had dropped into the half full plate that was resting on his distended stomach. He piled it high with cake and Aziraphale eagerly opened his mouth, moaning when Crowley fed him. “Is that what you want?” Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley fed him another forkful, and another, and another. Soon the plate was empty, and Aziraphale was licking his lips, his eyes half lidded, his hands rubbing his belly - what he could reach of it anyway - restlessly.

”Is that it?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale looked guilty. “Er - yes. I’m afraid so, dear boy.”

Crowley clicked his tongue. “Disgraceful. All that food! I was really looking forward to feeding it to you, but you just couldn’t wait.”

”Crowley, I’m sorry!” Aziraphale really did look distressed at having disappointed him. Well, he couldn’t have his angel being sad. He was only supposed to be happy and fat and satisfied, blissed out of his mind on delicious food and belly rubs. This wouldn’t do at all!

”It’s a good thing I’ve known you for 6000 years, angel,” Crowley continued, smugly. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have guessed you were going to do exactly this and stopped at a few of your favorite bakeries for some extra treats, which I’ve left downstairs.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Why you — foul demon! Go get it then!”

”Are you sure you’re not too full?” Crowley teased, poking the bloated stomach before him. “I wouldn’t want you to eat yourself sick just to please me.”

”Oh do shut up and hurry,” Aziraphale said, attempting to seat at him with little success, seeing as he was pinned to the couch by tremendous belly. Cackling, Crowley danced away and retreated downstairs to get more food for his angel.

Since the incident at the restaurant, Aziraphale had become even more unrestrained when it came to food, sex, and all the ways they intersected for him. He ate to excess regularly, encouraged and aided by Crowley, and made free use of miracles to aid in his gluttony. The effects were spectacular. He was fatter than ever, soft and plump and constantly overflowing his poor, strained suits. When he sat down, the furniture creaked. He had, on a few occasions, popped the buttons on his clothes, being so caught up in culinary delights that he forgot to loosen them, magically or not.   
  
Crowley adored ever minute of this. The excitement of seeing Aziraphale sit down to an enormous, decadent meal, the awe of watching him plow through it, the way he got out of breath and dreamy the fuller he got, the careless way he snapped his fingers now to stretch his belly before diving back in. And then there was the moment he’d finally decide to stop. Sometimes it was because they were out of food. But there was always the potential of Crowley going out to get him more, knowing he could, if he wished, carry on indefinitely, until his big belly filled the entire room. It was a potent fantasy.

And afterwards, when Aziraphale finally judged himself replete, and together they’d marvel at how big he’d made himself, and Crowley would soothe and worship him... that might be his favorite part. The satisfaction of a bad job well done. His angel, completely given over to gluttony, overwhelmed by the consequences of his indulgence. Fuck, he loved it.

But they weren’t there yet. Aziraphale wanted more, and so did Crowley.

He brought up and unpacked boxes of cakes and pastries and biscuits and tarts, while Aziraphale watched him with wide eyes, licking his lips. “Time for round two,” he said. “Where to begin?”

Crowley brought morsel after morsel to Aziraphale waiting mouth, drinking in each sigh of delight and moan of satisfaction. After about half an hour Aziraphale, gasping begged for a break. His stomach had grown taut and hard again. He snapped his fingers and it relaxed, becoming soft and pliant and ready for more. Crowley went back to feeding him. They’d gotten through almost half the boxes already and he’d wished he had brought even more. He never wanted this to stop.   
  


They had to stop again for Aziraphale to tend to his stuffed stomach. The angel was so immense that he almost filled the entire couch, more belly than angel at this point. While Aziraphale chewed and swallowed and sighed he kissed and stroked the stupendous heaving stomach. “A little more, angel,” he murmured, and Aziraphale made a desperate noise and sucked every last trace of cream and chocolate from his fingers, so insatiable he needed every last crumb inside of him. Soon he was emptying the last box.   
  
“All done,” he said. 

”God,” Aziraphale murmured. He patted his belly. White and round and absolutely massive and stuffed, and Crowley was responsible for it. “Look at me. Crowley, I’m completely out of control.”

”I know,” he said. “And I love it, angel. I love it.”

”So do I,” Aziraphale whimpered. “I never want to stop, you know. I’m a terrible angel.”

”You’re perfect,” Crowley said passionately. “And if you don’t want to stop, then don’t. I’ll Go out and get more. I’ll empty out every bakery in SoHo and feed it to you, angel.”

Aziraphale looked he might faint at the idea. “Better not,” he joked. “I fear one more bite and this couch might break beneath me.”

Crowley groaned. “Fuck the couch, angel, I’ll miracle you another one. You deserve everything sweet and delicious in this world, angel.”

”Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said fondly, stroking his face. They kissed, Crowley leaning over him, careful of his belly, but Aziraphale tugged him down until he was lying prone on it, soft and warm and wonderful. He sighed with bliss.

”I think this is enough for now, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed. “I fear I’m feeling rather sleepy after all that eating... you stay right where you are, and get some rest.”

”Whatever you say, angel,” Crowley murmured, already lulled into sleepiness by the gentle rise and fall of his big, round angel’s belly. “For now.” And he drifted, dreaming of Aziraphale’s full stomach and satisfied smile.


End file.
